Paper Cuts
by Frenger868
Summary: Paper cuts play at fatal wounds, Sherlock's heart is thawed, John bids its welcome to the fire, but his plan is flawed.


John had entered the pub that night flying high on the wings of another cold case solved with Sherlock. He went with Lestrade and some of the Yarders as Sherlock only sniffed at the offer and muttered something about giving into baser human needs. John decided he would have a good time anyways, as Lestrade and he were becoming quick friends.

They sat down at the bar and ordered their first shots. There was an amiable silence between Greg and John while the other officers were seated a little bit away, guffawing loudly and already drunk.

"So," Greg started with a twinkle in his eye," You going to go give Sherlock his reward when you get up there?" He laughed in his deep baritone, winking at John.

John spluttered slightly before taking a steadying breath, "Right, should have expected this. We are _not _a couple. We are flatmates. And even if I was interested, which I am _not_, "He was quick to say," Sherlock has no interest in a romantic or sexual relationship with another human being. Says he's married to his work."

"Oh, I've heard that one before. " Greg smiled, his eyes taking on a faraway look, "Wasn't always like that though, wasn't always as cold and detached as you see him here today, and believe me, this isn't _near _his worst. For the first couple of years that I knew him, his drug years, he was involved with somebody."

John didn't know what to say for a moment. He couldn't picture Sherlock in a relationship, couldn't imagine him kissing, being affectionate, lying in bed with somebody… John quickly downed his shot and ordered another. "You mean, long term?" John asked with liquid courage.

"Don't get me wrong. " Greg said quickly, seeing John's face, "He was still _Sherlock_; still aloof and… annoying as hell. Didn't give his partner what one would call normal public displays of affection; no nips on the mouth, no hand holding, not much contact at all really. Didn't seem the most passionate pair."

This certainly fit with the Sherlock John knew. Reigned in, controlled, not _needing_."Did something go wrong?"

Greg thought for a moment, rubbing his grey-stubbled chin, "Only thing I can think of is that Sherlock said he was getting too distracted to work on cases. Came alone one day, and I didn't see his partner again. Don't know why he brought the poor bloke along in the first place, Sherlock didn't give him much attention and if he did, it was to order him around."

Before Lestrade could go on, John interrupted," A bloke? So Sherlock _is _gay then." He paused, letting it sink in, "Right, I did always wonder in the back of my mind."

"Shouldn't change anything though, "Greg went on, "Sherlock hasn't looked at buck nor mare in the last decade or so, as far as I've seen of him. And when he'd taken so warmly to you I thought maybe he was getting back in the game. Oh, don't look at me like that. The way he acts towards you is probably the most _human_ I've ever seen him. Quite surprised nothing's going on, really." Greg said the last part as though he still believed John and Sherlock were shagging like bunnies behind the scenes.

John cleared his throat."So, what was this bloke's name?"

"Liam. Tall chap he was; taller than Sherlock even. Had red hair and from the sights of him I would have to say that he wasn't a junkie feeding off Sherlock's habits; perhaps a very nicely dressed junkie. Honestly don't know why he stuck around Sherlock for as long as did, a handsome lad like that. Don't know why either stuck around the other. They were certainly an attractive pair, objectively, you know."

"Huh." John was fairly certain this conversation was coming to a close."Well, as much as I'm intrigued about Sherlock's unexpected love life, I think I'd better be off to the flat," Catching Greg's look he added, "to go to bed. No rewards shall be had, of any variety."

"Stay a little longer why don't you? Just solved a case, I'm not being called in tomorrow if I can help it: how about a good old drinking contest to celebrate?" Greg's voice rose at the end of the sentence loud enough for the whole pub to hear, and the yarders came ambling over.

John grumbled good-naturedly, and sat back down.

A very sloshed Dr. Watson came back to 221B that night, stumbling up the stairs every third step and heartily singing complete gibberish.

Sherlock, who had opted for hazardous, low-visibility chemical experiments instead of raucous, low-intelligence drinking, heard John's attempts at a soprano well before he had entered the flat, and so was there to catch the good doctor when he fell face first through the door.

"Sherrrrrrrlock," John drawled, smiling sleepily up at his flatmate.

"John," Sherlock started, dragging him towards the couch, "a drinking contest? Didn't think that would be in your repertoire considering your sister's alcoholism." He laid John's mumbling body down carefully on the cushions, eager to get back to his experiment.

"Hey. Hey Shlock, hey."

"_Sherlock_, John." He corrected, turning impatiently back to John.

"Hey."

"Yes?"

"Come, come here Shlock. I need to tell you something. It's important." John whispered loudly, dead serious. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but crouched back down beside John.

"I…I—"John burped loudly in Sherlock's ear. Charming. "I have a gay best friend." John dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Sherlock looked at him blankly, and John caught it.

"It's you, Shlock!"

Oh. _Oh, _Lestrade. Sherlock snorted.

"Wonderful you've got that sorted," He said dismissively, "Now go to bed John, don't want to be running around town hung over _and _tired."

"Nonono Shlock. You aren't getting away that easy, sir." Sherlock sighed.

"What now?"

"What was his name again, Shlock?" Sherlock's lips went tight.

"Who are you talking about, John." The doctor looked at him funny. Then the look went sour, out-of-focus.

Fortunately, Sherlock recognized it as more than sickening confusion, and ran to grab the bin from the kitchen before vomit decorated the couch. He only got there just in time for John to aim for the edge of the container.

"Sher-Sherlock, thanks, for that." John managed when he was done.

"I'll...I'll just leave this here then. Try to sleep; sober up. We can... talk about this in the morning." He didn't intend to.

Sherlock walked back to his experiment, a slight downturn to his lips.


End file.
